All I Am
by Dungbeets
Summary: After the mugging of her father, Caitlyn has a special device installed into her hat. It records her thoughts at her command, allowing her to pull back every detail of the memory at a moments notice. But there are things that she does not realize that she needs to remember forever, not until the her love begins to forget them. (All I Remember, Caitlyn's story) Caitlyn x Vi
1. Log 1

An anomaly

That's what she is; a ruffian, a street rat. Yet she risks her life to protect those around her. I've had multiple reports of would be rapists and thieves being dumped at hospital fronts battered and bruised. None of them sustaining long term injuries, but they no doubt have learned their lesson.

She lives by a code similar to ours, like a cop with a badge.

Intriguing

Her criminal record is the longest one I've ever seen; no doubt I've only scratched the surface. It only dates back to her arrival in Piltover's lowercity seven years ago with those gauntlets of hers. She gave immigration officials a hard time before disappearing into the city sewers.

3 injured, 1 sent to the hospital.

The only files linked to her name her as Vi, the girl with the pink hair and massive hextech gauntlets. I have orders from the higher ups to have her stopped; her activities are technically against the law. I've delayed official action for a month now but the mayor has threatened to stop funding if we don't take care of her by the end of this week. A few more days and I'll have enough information to find her.

She'll be stopped, he can count on that. But it'll be on my terms.


	2. Log 2

I don't understand

It's high noon when I spot her sitting alone on a bench in the Compass Shopping Square in the lowercity. Her gauntlets are tucked under the wooden seat as she shares her sweets with a group of orphans that sprint over to her, shouting her name. She smiles, distributing a small pile of candies in each of their tiny outstretched hands.

The orphanage workers are nowhere to be found.

They run about the street, playing cops and robbers as the subject watches over them. They huddling now and then to trade their treats, the girl with pony tails eventually trades all her candies for red ones.

One of the young boy trips on one of the cracks in the ground, his handful of confections spilling onto the concrete, it's not a bad fall and I presume he'll have a minor scrapped knee at most. She gets up and casually walks to his side, chiding him for not being careful. She dusts the grime off of his pants and gives him another handful of candy. He stops crying and runs off to rejoin his friends. She returns to her bench, peacefully watching the bustle in the square.

It's been three months since I've set foot in the lowercity, the mayor has had me stuck in my office signing paperwork and patrolling higher class streets of the uppercity. I asked him why we don't send more patrols down here and why we don't include the lowercity in our crime rate reports.

His words "Let the dogs take care of the lowercity, I want your finest officers up here where it actually matters."

It's disgusting. The streets are ill kept, cracked, and uneven. As a result, most of the residents travel on foot, parents steadying their children so they do not trip like the boy had. I've only seen five non-commercial vehicles in my four hours here; they all seem to be scavenged from junkyards and barely functional. I don't understand why we turn a blind eye to this place.

I haven't seen a single police patrol yet.

It's like a mockery of our law enforcement, its insulting. I've had to stop three thefts happening in broad daylight. I'll have to speak with the uppercity mayor about the state of the lowercity.

It's not like me to lose track of time, but I find myself spending the rest of the day following her and her troop of children. As expected, I follow them to the playground near the Winged Gears elementary school; it's the only playground in a 5 mile radius in decent condition.

She carries the children on her gauntlets, letting them climb around and hang off of the metal fingers. My heart stops when she proceeds to toss them into the air and gingerly catching them on their way back down. Their screams of joy do little to put me at ease.

I want to stop them; they are in danger of hurting themselves by touching the parts of the gloves heated by the steam, or even by Vi simply failing to catch them. But every time I see one about hurt themselves, she stops them and repositions them, the control she has of the massive fingers is impeccable.

So she has a soft spot for children, probably orphans in particular.

I watch from afar, sipping my earl grey tea, simply…enjoying their laughter. Laughter is something rarely heard in the uppercity, even at the schools since the facilities are all indoors.

oddly charming

There is something about her I can't quite put my finger on.

At exactly 6:12pm, two elderly women came and greet her. The children seemed dejected when the two approached them; but they followed none the less. She waves goodbye to them and walks away, turning down Abel Street. She stops to purchase two ready-meals at the Rusty Cog corner store. She pays with crumpled money, another rarity in the uppercity with the standardization of credit chips, and leaves the scruffy shop keep a 10 credit tip.

He thanks her a total of seven times before she leaves the store.

I follow her back to her hideout, one that I've already arranged to be cleared in two days. It looks more menacing at night, the walls are metal with paint flecking off, the metal beneath brown and oxidized. The only light is the single, humming lamp above the rusty metal door.

There is a man in rags sleeping outside the door, his gnarled foot peeks out of his patched blanket. Wispy, white hair adorns his head and his face, there are deep wrinkles set into his dark skin even with his sleeping expression. It looks as though he hasn't eaten properly in days.

It seems that she is expecting him. Her face softens and she shakes her.

"Crazy old man." I read her lips, she says it lovingly.

She leaves one of the ready-meals next to him before readjusting the blanket, ensuring that it covers his entire body. The bare no resemblance and she came to Piltover alone. It's surely not one of her relatives.

I keep watching until she slides into the warehouse, shutting the door behind her as quietly as possible.

Two more days until I can begin understand.


	3. Log 3

7:30pm, in ten minutes, she'll arrive at the doorstep

She'll walk through the front door, on her guard because the old man in front is not there. She'll be unarmed, her gauntlet stashed in her room, off put since the warehouse is dead quiet. No lights in the warehouse, no residents. She'll stumble, two steps forward, staying close to the left wall, preferring to have her right hand ready to strike.

One step to the right, into my trap.

She'll struggle, perhaps ripping the trap out of the ground, and move towards me.

Three steps forward, right foot hindered. One step left, into another trap.

She'll stop, allowing me to step out of the shadows and present her my offer.

If she lashes out at me, she'll trip forward

Her left hand will land in a trap

She'll take my offer

Stanly won't have to shoot her

She'll be taken care of

This is how it will go


	4. Log 4

Variables

Blasted variables

She came through the door, pressed against the left wall, her right foot stepped into a trap.

Then she ripped the damn thing off her foot.

Never have I ever seen someone simply _pry_ the teeth of the trap off their foot.

It's impossible, but not to her

She can see in the dark, side stepping the other two traps, I rely on the aid of the scopes on my hat, but even with those, I can barely make out her crouching silhouette. There isn't enough light for the scope to pick up.

She's up on the makeshift pallet walls, she has the high ground. I am at a disadvantage; armed with only my net gun and blind in the darkness. I know I'm not in too much danger; she won't use lethal force, it's against her code.

Stanly is trigger happy, he better stand down if he wants to keep his job.

She doesn't believe me when I say I'm here to talk. Of course, if it had gone as planned, I wouldn't need to shout it out. She would be at my feet, she would take my offer, we'd go home for the day.

Mission accomplished

No. The circumstances now obviously disagree with my statement. I'm in her territory, with my traps set up strategically around the ground. She is no doubt very protective of the people she lives with, and she does not fancy the Piltover law enforcement. She is not afraid to physically fight off anything that threatens her or her people.

She's violent, powerful, but rash.

She'll try to strike soon.

I give her my offer.

"Yeah, and I'm offering you to get the fuck out of my home and my life. I don't need some pencil pusher ghosting me on my runs."

Her jeer stings more than it should. I wouldn't be "some pencil pusher" if it weren't for the mayor. I hate the man. Another change, Stanly is going to shoot her for that comment, he doesn't like being called a pencil pusher, even if its indirect. It's too late to stop him; he's lined up by now.

_Focus Caitlyn_

Any moment now.

_There_

Two shots fired by Stanly.

I can hear the first burrow itself into the wood of the walls; the second one hits its mark. I swear I'll fire the man. I scream at him.

He's going to get hurt

"All you want to do is talk, huh?!" She's angry, hurt, but not from the pain of the dart. No, she's moving far too fast, is she immune?

Retaliation, the dart flies to where he is hiding.

She has a good arm and a good eye

He hits the ground like a sack of potatoes; he'll have a broken bone at the most from the fall. Undisciplined, he should've waited for my signal.

She disappears from sight; she's on the ground with me. Hiding behind some wall, I can smell her blood, it stains the floor. She's going to strike. Her movements have only slowed minutely.

Where

_Focus Caitlyn_

I ready my net gun, her style is close combat. She'll have to get up close. Listen for her battle cry, listen for her charge. Be ready.

She needs to know that I don't want to hurt her, that I have now interest in arresting her. She is in pain, alone, dejected. She needs to help me with fixing what has become of the lowercity.

I want to give her a new chance, a new life.

It's something she deserves

She attacks from behind me, predictable, the traps are evaded, and she lets out a shout. She can see my eyes, I want to understand her.

She hesitates ever so slightly.

"Get dunked!"

Side-step to the left let her charge past you. Momentum will carry her forward.

Three steps forward, left foot into a trap.

Aim. Fire.

The net from my gun ensnares her legs, she can't get to the trap this time, there's no escape. She should be knocked out by now, but she fights it, trying to rip apart the heavy ropes. It's like the sedative had little effect on her at all.

But she's tired; her eyes are crystal windows to her soul.

My heart stings.

I am surprised, when I show myself she stops struggling. She accepts her defeat, running a hand through her rambunctious hair. She smirks, "Takes a lot to knock out this girl."

The statement fits her well

Adorable

_Focus Caitlyn_

I extend my hand and present her my offer once more. She'll take it this time. She's going to ask for something in return.

"Where is the rest of warehouse 10C?" Of course, she is more concerned about the wellbeing of others before herself. Commendable, it'll get her hurt one day, perhaps even killed.

I reassure her, she seems satisfied.

But she still she doesn't understand. She knows of the trouble I went to track her down, following her for upwards of two weeks, I don't quite understand it myself. Something about her tells me that it's all worth it. She wants to understand as much as I do.

"Why? Why me, all this shit for a single person?" There's the million dollar question, the same question the mayor asked me.

I struggle to remember the diplomatic answer I gave to the mayor. But like most conversations with him, the words are gone from my memory, unimportant. I try to explain the best way I can, I realize that I'm trying to ration it out to myself, I speak true from my heart when I admit she is more decent of a person than anyone of the uppercity.

Even myself

She doesn't see my furrowed brows when I look away.

Is it pride that swells in my chest?

She shakes my hand after removing her gloves; her hands are rough with dry skin. It's a gesture, skin to skin, no false pretenses; I had removed my gloves to shake her hands. The gauntlets must be hot to wear. She still has yet to ask for something in return.

"On one condition."

Predictable

"I work for you, with you, and only you."

A partnership, her handshake is strong, it reflects who she is. However, I can tell she is haunted by something. By her past? I'll understand soon.

I return the gesture; I want her to trust me. I smile before I can stop myself.

I agree to her terms.

_Partner_

_I like the sound of that._


	5. Log 5

She is not shy about her body

But she is around me

It's the day after she accepted the offer. I instructed her to clean up and meet the receptionist at the station the next afternoon. It is 1:25pm when I finish the necessary paperwork, a totally of 43 forms, half of which designed to simply deter me from enlisting her, no doubt the commissioner's work. I finally meet up with her at the medical room of the station. She is in the middle of the physical examination when I walk through the door.

When she sees me, she's seated in only her underwear on the bed, her hands dig further into the mattress, she's already on edge from the man in the lab coat. We had sent for our female examiner but she apparently fell ill the evening before and couldn't make it to work.

Dr. O'Neil was always a judgmental woman.

Vi didn't care, she demanded everything to be done no matter what, she didn't want to waste time in limbo.

Straight forward

Impatient

There is a chemical burn that runs from her ankle to the middle of her left shin. An incision scar marks the skin right above her liver. Multiple injection sites dot her arms, neck, and hips. There is a scar that runs along her scalp, disguised as the part of her abnormal haircut.

There are many more scars hidden beneath the artwork of her tattoos.

He instructs her to redress and leads me back out with him. He hands me his medical list and excuses himself to finish the blood tests with the vial in his hand. I scan over the notes Dr. Tobi made as I reenter behind the human resources representative.

He has missed 14 items. I pen them in myself.

The woman asks her generic questions; she has no birthday so one is assigned to her, any medical conditions we should know about, if she has any blood relatives in the area. She states something along the lines of a bum left knee, which is why she wears a sleeve to support her knee cap. She doesn't give any more detail on the matter.

I tune out the rest of the rep's questions, the answers Vi give her are obviously completely made up, she wouldn't give any true information to a complete stranger.

List of answers I want to know:

1) Has she ever killed anyone in cold blood (undeniably yes, most likely below 100)

2) What happened in the mine (She was never formally linked to the event)

3) What kind of drugs does she use (Something to help her cope with her past, perhaps Brilliance)

4) What happened to the other two test subjects lost in the Zaun fire

Of course, these questions will slowly be answered. Remember the note; one must gain trust in order to gain information.

A form of exchange, unless interrogation is utilized

The doctor returns with another clipboard in hand and a frown on his face. Shoulders tense, eyes glancing between the clipboard and the woman, he rechecks something, pinching the area where he had drawn blood earlier. He is baffled.

Vi hisses, eyes murderous and teeth clenched. She's annoyed both with is prodding and the fact that he's wearing a lab coat. She doesn't have the best memories of people in lab coats. She wants to kill the man when he inserts her identification chip into her wrist, she doesn't trust his reassurance.

Its only procedure.

He murmurs to me the word "Zaun" before pulling me out of the room, another vial of blood in his hands.

"There are traces of enhancement chemicals in her bloodstream. I already ran the tests; three of them can be traced back to the Emerald Chasm Orphanage turn governmental testing facility. I'm going to run the tests once more to confirm it, but it's pretty much set in stone that she's not exactly a normal human being." He tells me what I already suspected. It doesn't faze me, most of the league champions aren't exactly human either. But he spends his life examining simple humans, deciding what is normal and what is not.

He hands the reports to me and before I can open the door again, his hand grabs onto my arm. I beat down the instinct to reach for the sidearm strapped to my leg.

"Sheriff, I advise you have as little to do with her as possible. Nothing good comes out of Zaun, she's a ticking time bomb."

I understand.

But understanding doesn't equal agreeing

I wrench my arm out of his grip and tell him that his opinion has been noted and that if he were to do something like that again, he would find himself out of a job with a bullet in his chest. He meekly nods, scurrying away.

Selfish man, all he cares about is not being held accountable for her.

And yet I am so eager to take her under my wing.

_Focus Caitlyn_

I ease the door open, catching the woman stiffen in her seat once more; the flicker of annoyance in her face melts away to reveal a faintest of blushes. Odd, very odd, surely besting her in the warehouse did not earn me a status that puts her on edge at the simple sight of me.

Her past; strength and perseverance allowed her to survive Zaun. Trust is hard to come by with a childhood like that, so does she trust me or does she respect me?

What does her personality now tell me about her past?

She didn't go through the struggles alone…no, so far too compassionate, she has a big sister complex. She cared for someone, someone weaker than her, more innocent; someone she couldn't protect then, so she does everything to protect the weak now.

She's seen death; it's the life of a criminal to do whatever it takes to get the goods. But regret is resident in her mind; she aims each punch to inflict the most amount of pain to disable the person without doing life threatening damage. Two conflicting morals, but she makes it work.

She punches first, never lets her guard down, has an affinity for protecting people.

So why does she act like this around me?

When I want information, I'll go straight to the source.

Earn trust

Earn information

I humor her, gently.

I tear up the biasedly filled HR files the woman had given me. She judgmental, it's out of my power to get her replaced. I'll decide what the mayor reads up on my partner. She is my responsibility, after all.

I tell her to walk with me and leave the door open behind me, I can hear her slink out of the examination room and fall in step beside me. She keeps quiet; her footfalls are casual, head shifting back and forth. She's mapping the area in her mind, most likely a force of habit.

As we near the cafeteria, her posture straightens instantaneously, she smells the food.

Humorous.

"Let's get some food then." I answer her unasked question; she was no doubt going to charge into the hall either way. She probably didn't eat all morning.

We walk over to a table in a secluded corner, my eyes drinking in her body language. The moment she walks through the doors, into the eye of the few officers present, her strides become longer, more confident, a mask of confidence. Her darting eyes show that she's still nervous on the inside, but the eyes themselves; angry, judging. She is out of her element here.

There are only a handful of officers in the hall, 5 to be exact; most have already left to carry on with their business. The ones that do pass us nod to me but their jaws instantly tense at the sight of her. It's obvious they don't trust her, and that she doesn't care for them. I know something's going to happen soon or later, something violent.

Vi wants to prove herself to me

The officers want nothing to do with a criminal unless it involves putting them under arrest.

"So, how old are you Vi? " I start easy, she already answered the question on the HR sheet, but she looks far too young to be 32.

I expect her to stiffen at the question; she doesn't like being questioned by strangers. She surprises me, however, when her shoulders relax and she smirks, replying before taking a bike of her burger.

"Take a guess, detective."

Crumbs fall from her mouth and onto to the table, her elbows rest on the smooth surface.

Uncultured

She likes games

"24"

I'm never wrong

"And a half." She chuckles.

_Never_

I scoff and take a bite of my ham sandwich, noticing the difference in our eating habits; her legs are spread, she hunches over to wolf down her meal. I have my parents to thank for drilling etiquette into my brain.

"Okay-"

"Ah aha. My turn."

Blatant interruption.

"How old are you?"

"31…and a quarter."

I humor her some more, a smile pulls slightly at the corner of her mouth. It's not often I am this informal with my officers, but there's something about her.

I just can't quite put my finger on it.

"What exactly happened in that mine 10 years ago?" It's the gentlest the list of questions I had in mind. Her eyes darken for a moment; she brushes the crumbs from her mouth with the sleeve of her maroon jacket. It takes a moment for her reply.

"I made a choice, it was between running off with my so called 'buddies' or saving the bunch of folks we had fucked up. I didn't want any more innocent blood on my hands, not when it's a group of middle aged men begging you to save them, saying they got a family back at home."

She pauses, the story is about to take a turn, something that wasn't in the reports.

File said there were a total of 13 men working in the part of the tunnel that collapsed; the crooks had made off with the day's find and various mechanical equipment, all totaling about 33,000 credits worth; the arms of a mining rig were listed in the report. There something else that was never recorded.

"There was a kid in there."

Of course, she has a soft spot for children.

"Man's wife recently passed, so he was forced to take his daughter to work since he couldn't afford day care. He probably never told the police seeing that a whole can of worms would be opened of safety regulators found out. She made it out alright, carried her back home myself. She drew me something before I left."

She pulls up her left sleeve and shows me a small tattoo on the inside of her forearm I had taken note of during the examination. It's a crude crayon drawing of the Vi holding hands with a mother, father, and daughter, a house behind them and a pile of rocks on the other side.

It must mean a lot; family was something she never grew up with.

"I keep the original in a compartment in one of my gloves." She wrinkles her nose, an attempt to dispel the somber mood that had set around us, and returns to engulfing her food.

The story only strengthens her profile. She's creative, resourceful, and insanely strong; as proved by being able to use mining equipment designed for a grown man at the age of 14. I only fear that her brash attitude may keep her from fitting in.

She lets out a loud belch, muttering an excuse me, probably for my sake.

I don't believe she intends to try fitting in.

"How many people have you killed?"

Absurd question. Does she wish to know more about me, or is this a test of who is better? Perhaps she wants to compare herself to something. I am not proud by the number, but it's what needs to be done to keep law and order.

"142, over the span of 17 years" I remember each one of them and their story.

"Whew impressive,"

Sarcasm

"37 for me. I can't say that most of them deserved it though."

Not in cold blood

She seems to be stuck in a rut at the moment. Her motions are slower, her eating has slowed, eyes staring at moments. Her mind is wandering. For a woman of her upfront audacity, she is easily dejected when the subject is up her past.

"I'm working on it." She flashes me a toothless smile. Genuine.

It's true, the recipients of her brand of justice are always hospitalized with injuries never exceeding a few cracked ribs and/or a concussion; it's usually both.

She gets up, eyes glancing at the clock on the wall; it reads 2:34pm. Her hurried movements tell me that she has plans to have to get to. Most likely concerning her neighbors in Warehouse 10C.

"Sorry to cut it short, I gotta get going; helping Old Lady Boyle paint her flat today."

Predictable

"One last question." I want to know. She stops, eyes expectant.

"What happened to the other two subjects that were reportedly lost in the fire at Zaun."

The shift is fast. Her muscles tense, brows furrow, her back stiffens, the paper plate in her hand crinkles under the pressure of her fingers. She doesn't look me in the eyes; she simply stares behind me, narrow, lost in thought. I have brought up a delicate subject. She'll brush me off, more trust must be earned. I'll try again another time.

As fast as her demeanor darkens, it brightens back up, all evidence masked by a sudden cheeky grin and a flip of her hair. She straightens out and rolls her shoulders.

"That's a story for another time. I'll catch up with you in a couple days Sheriff." She waves to me and walks away. Her shoulders are raised, back slightly hunched; she is hurting on the inside.

I want to know

I am unsure how long it will take for that time to come.


	6. Log 6

Her hand to hand combat skills are the best I've ever seen, greatly surpassing the drill officer at the academy. Today, she's gone through the basic training, the procedure of making arrests, and studied the law as far as her meager attention span can take.

She's not even halfway through my law enforcement handbook.

Nonetheless, she won't be making arrests alone anytime soon, she'll be accompanied by me at all times during duty hours in and out of the station.

She outright refuses to touch a firearm, even though pistol training is fundamental in officer training. She grunts an answer when I inquire on the reason, not even offering me a fully formed word. I suspect traumatic stress from the Zaun testing facility.

They have a history of using gunfire to quell riots.

She eventually agrees to the bare minimum of sidearm training, only allowing me to personally teach her how to aim, fire, reload and handle the standard issue police pistol. She expresses that she will not carry one on duty, however.

She also demanded that the shooting range be cleared for the duration of the training; she doesn't want anything to do with the rest of the force.

I ask her why she doesn't want to be around the other officers, her sharp reply:

"They're all a bunch of snobby uppercity pigs."

Fairly accurate description

It takes her two full clips to finally hit the target with a bullet. Her posture is horrendous, she jerks at every pull of the trigger, arms shaking when I help her steady her aim. For someone with such strong arms to wield gauntlets, her muscles tremble when given a gun. Even with hearing protection, she flinches at the sound of each round being fired. Progress is slow; we go through a case and a half of ammunition until I deem her accuracy acceptable.

Tomorrow will be her first official day on duty. I assigned her to the first daylight patrol with me to test her punctuality.

No doubt she'll be late.


	7. Log 7

Someone's picked the lock to my office; there are scratches on the knob that were never there.

It can't be a criminal; there are officers on duty, security patrolling the halls. I am always the first in for daylight shift. I hear rustling behind the closed door, whoever it is, they're looking through my things.

It can't be her

I want to reach for my sidearm, but if it really is her, the sight of it will only bring more trouble. Relax, guard up, hand where you can easily draw.

It's her

At my desk

Playing with the paperweight my mother gave me at the Piltover Police Ball three years ago.

Vi

_Early_

This blasted woman is fucking 1 hour and 23 minutes early. Even more so since it seems she's been in my office for some time; many of the trinkets on my display shelf had been moved.

There are bags under her eyes, her outfit looks clean and pressed, I doubt she got much sleep last night. Was she up all night preparing for patrol? Is she that nervous for her first day?

Or perhaps nervous about who she's patrolling with.

Absurd

_Focus Caitlyn_

She looks as surprised as I am, quickly placing the glass sculpture back onto my desk and rubbing the back of her head. She's embarrassed, but eagerness shines in her eyes. The motion is a habit, a childish habit when she has been caught for something.

_Remember, there are officers in earshot._

I comment on her punctuality, keeping my tone even, measuring my motions. Strictly business. Today is important, nothing must go wrong or else the mayor will terminate her badge on the spot. My reputation is entwined with her and I can't afford to lose either of them.

I catch sight of her gauntlets attached to her pack; the metal is clean and halfway polished. She used very low quality polish; must've taken hours to get it to where it is now.

I am certain she did not sleep at all last night.

What is she nervous about? A person like her should be nonchalant on how this goes; just another job, another paycheck. Something more perhaps?

_I don't understand_

Patrol is dull, I give her pointers on what to look for, how to properly arrest people in the uppercity; if she misses a single detail in an arrest, the perpetrator could walk free in court. A sideways glance and I can tell she's not listening. Her shoulders are relaxed, her stride casual. I continue talking; she seems to enjoy the sound of my voice.

She's comforted by the sound of someone talking.

We end patrol at the station, I call out to her to break her out of her daze. She seems to have been staring at the cars in the street; perhaps she's never seen a hexmobile up close. I might her take a tour of our auto department one day.

The station is crowed when we walk in, the daylight shift just beginning to bustle in. They nod towards me; Robert tries to hand me a report. He's having trouble at home, he didn't shave properly for there is a nick on the underside of his jaw, his tie is crooked with a fresh stain on it, and there is not the usual smudge of lipstick on his lips from kissing his wife.

An argument perhaps? He does have a mistress on the side.

Even if he is off his game today, I tell him that he knows exactly where it should go and reprime him for not remembering my policy. He apologizes, embarrassed, and walks off to place it on my desk.

They huddle around us, pausing momentarily whatever they're doing to scrutinize the woman behind me. They're planning something, I know it.

Relax, guard up, hand where you can easily draw.

Someone shouts my name; I look over to see Carl gesturing to me from his office. I rarely speak to Carl in person if there isn't an open case, he is part of the homicide unit and there hasn't been any action for his unit as of late. What does he want…

It's a set up

Relax

Vi can take care of herself

I follow him in, shutting the door behind me.

"Is there a new case to discuss?"

He seats himself casually on his desk, his hands in his pockets. He's a womanizer, fitting that he is the one trusted to distract me. But I have to be certain before I can accuse.

"Nothing, sheriff, been a dry spell lately." He grins, turning up his charm. It's revolting, I don't mix love with work. "I wanted to know how you were doing, maybe we can catch a-."

Respect has been lost

"Save your breath, officer." I growl out, turning my back to him right after the smirk falls from his face. I hear shouts from the lobby. I press my ear to the door.

_"-her into some lesbo, fucking fag."_

Homosexuality is looked down upon in Piltover, 'great minds are lost when children are not raised in a proper household.' It's pathetic that a city that revolves around science and progress is so close minded. The culture of Piltover is more traditional than the history books show them to be.

"Caitlyn-"

"Officer, one more word out of you and you will find yourself out of a job." He backs down; no one would risk their reputation for anything here in the uppercity.

Spineless cowards.

I ease open the door to peek out; all eyes are fixed on Vi in the center of the crowd to notice the action. Stanly has his gun drawn and aimed at her face. The safety is off, he knows he has little to lose.

Stanly has already been booked for taking bribes from company heads in return for planting incriminating evidence on rival companies. His trial is in two days, the evidence is overwhelming. This is his last 'great duty' he'll do for the station. That's how he thinks, he'll be a hero just like Jayce.

"Down, dog. I don't want to tell the sheriff I had to put down her new pet out of self-defense." His nose is broken; there is a glint of desperation in his eyes.

It will happen in 3 seconds

Not enough time for me to stop it; he'll still shoot her if I call out. No matter what, he wants her gone from the uppercity, _they _want her gone.

2 seconds

He is going to fire and she is going to dodge it, her weight has already shifted to her left leg. The bullet will graze her shoulder plate, rebounding upwards and bury itself in the chest of the officer behind her.

This how it will happen

1 second

He is has not put on his vest yet, having just walked through the door behind us and placing his equipment on his desk. He will mostly be heavily wounded, perhaps even killed.

The pistol is fired; she predicts it, but she doesn't duck down low enough for the bullet to completely miss her. She does this on purpose, stopping halfway and letting it dig into her flesh. She could've dodged it completely but she doesn't.

She would take a bullet for someone who hates her.

_I don't understand_

I see her hand cup and I know what's coming next; a textbook move done by fighters who aren't positioned correctly for a direct punch. The hand hits squarely against his left ear, rupturing the eardrum. He screams, dropping the pistol. The rest of the force rushes to keep him from collapsing while she stands there, blood staining her jacket.

I slam the door open, everyone stiffens.

I order Stanly to be taken to the infirmary and to meet me in my office in 30 minutes with his desk cleared. He knows he's done for, but the smug smirk on his face shows that he is satisfied with what he has accomplished; ruining her reputation.

Great Piltover society; if you're going down, take your enemy down with you.

The mayor will have her head for injuring another officer on her first day of duty.

And he'll have my head next.

I take her to my office and lock the door behind us.

Father insisted I take medical classes when I first started law enforcement. It's proved useful time after time. I should thank him one day.

Her steel shoulder plate slowed the bullet down enough for it to only bury itself in about half an inch. She doesn't even flinch when I apply the anesthetic and dig the slug out with a pair of forceps. I have to pause; it is not a round wound that I expect to see after removing the bullet. Her flesh stiches together, not completely healing, but there isn't a hole in a flesh like there normally would be. No more blood trickles out.

She has improved healing capabilities.

Intriguing

Though violence is not permitted in the station, or even in the uppercity, I will testify that she was provoked. But she didn't fight back with words like most uppercity folks would, she defended her name and mine alike with action.

We fight with wit and self-advancement in Piltover, up-showing the other by gaining notoriety through any means necessary and then humiliating them; all as legally as possible. The self is the most important thing; your reputation is held to a greater esteem than the true quality of your work. It's a gutless way to live, but it keeps our hospitals clear and health insurance low. Stanly knew is reputation was already gone for.

Out with a bang, he would say.

By the way she holds herself; the lowercity is much different. Actions, not words, similar to the Noxian champions I've interacted with. She wants to prove her worth through the quality of her work, not the connections she can make. She will have a hard time adjusting to the society of the uppercity.

She does deserve something for her merit. When I glance up I can see the look of pure guilt and shame, though she does not regret her actions, she seems to be aware of the predicament she has put me in. She knows that I'll get in trouble if I don't punish her; she thinks she'll be fired, like what Stanly wanted.

No, she's my responsibility, she deserves a chance; mayor be damned.

I place her badge into her hand and thank her; thank her for standing up to the uppercity officers, thank her for standing up for me. I thank her for showing me a different side of Piltover.

It's time I take a stand for something other than myself.

I dismiss her from duty for the rest of the day. I can't stop thinking about her face, the stubbornness when she stood her ground. Most people would cower at the sight of a gun pointed at them; I would expect Vi to considering her past.

No doubt, she's been in similar situations before, but what made this time different. What made her take the bullet in the shoulder instead of letting it kill the man behind her? What's different from this situation compared to the other times she had had a face off with a firearm.

I expect the others times she's been held at gunpoint were in the Zaun testing facility and on the streets of the lowercity. None of these times she was bound by the law to act a certain way, not that she would probably care, she did not have her career on the line. Not that she would care about either.

Perhaps _I_ am the variable….

Absurd thought

She may have respect for me, but she's grown up on the concept of survival of the fittest, she wouldn't risk her wellbeing in the hope of having an impressing me.

Would she?

No, again, it's an absurd though, highly unlikely.

But still a possibility

_Focus Caitlyn_

My heart warms

_Don't mix love with work_


	8. Log 8

I stare at her a lot, observing her while she tears through criminals and jungle camps alike. Just one year since her start in the police force and she has made quite a name for herself in Piltover. She frequents the lowercity after her patrols in the uppercity, making arrests left and right now that she's officially an officer of the law.

She made 27 _proper _arrests in the first week.

The mayor, though still reluctant, allowed me to nominate her for champion status at the League. I had little influence other than submitting her name, she made herself a champion.

She wouldn't look me in the eyes when she returned home after the judgment. If it was anything like mine, she probably had good reason to request the week off from duty. I didn't have such a luxury.

Her habits haven't deviated from what I've established; she doesn't listen to my orders half the time, as expected once she became comfortable with my presence. She rushes in before I can get set up. Of course it worries me, but it has come to the point where I plan for her to rush in. She is an asset that I must use to the fullest to enforce the law here.

But I still wish she would be a more safe

Her unconscious habits are menial; I find them rather humorous and easy flags to look for in order to determine her mood.

She runs her hand through her hair or rubs the back of her head when she's playfully embarrassed. She's done so when she accidently palmed my chest falling down the institute stairs.

Her lip curls, right corner first, then left when she snarls to show she is displeased with someone. She finds Kog'maw adorable, but she doesn't like anyone touching her food.

When she's bored and standing, she paws the ground with her feet, much like a horse. She also has the annoying habit of chewing on stick-like objects; from lollipops to writing utensils. I don't think she's realized it yet, but I doubt there is a single pen on her desk that hasn't been in between her teeth.

The teeth that shine so bright when she smiles.

_Focus Caitlyn_

Though she is friendly with the other champions at the League, I can tell she is uncomfortable with some of them. Her eyes are narrowed; her nose wrinkled when she interacts with Demacians and Noxians alike, Riven being the only exception. I believe it's a sign of irritation, but I have yet to find out why she would have automatic disgust with people of these two factions.

She does get along extremely well with the loud nature of the Freljordian folk; much to the dismay of the quiet centric Ionians when it comes to large feasts at the dining hall.

I don't quite understand her, but I have a plan, something to test her when we are on free week duty next month. I just need to map out all the variables…

I must wrap up the Doctor Sudo case files before that week arrives, this case cannot be left open for a full week of me being absent from Piltover.


	9. Log 9

Plan; wait until Vi is intoxicated, since only two kinds of people act true to their heart: young children and drunks. Test her, tease her, she how far she will take her little crush.

It is purely research.

Risky? yes

Will it help me understand? perhaps

_Is understanding her really my goal here?_

My eyes follow her sweat coated body as she spars with the hand of Noxus. Though she is already more intoxicated than I am, her form is flawless; tight, elbows tucked in to help her shift her weight more easily. It must be instinctual for her to fall into such a fighting stance. Darius is easily twice her size in body mass and has no doubt trained with experts at close quarter combat.

The Noxus military does not allow for any weaknesses.

She nimbly sidesteps every one of his heavy punches, if he were to land one; it would knock her straight off her feet. She knows this too, so she bides her time, something unlike her, and weaves in her own sharp jabs to his soft spots when he over extends. He gets angrier as every strike he attempts is dodged, his swings becoming more reckless; it is a mistake he would never make if not for his drunken state.

6 minutes 23 seconds

Impressive

She helps him up from the mat, cheers erupt, money exchanges hands.

They shake hands and offer to buy each other a drink. Her eyes are no longer narrowed, her nose is relaxed.

_I don't understand_

Alcohol is key variable tonight, I do not know exactly how much she will drink nor how she acts when intoxicated. Sure I have seen her drunk, but not to this degree and not in this environment. She is infamously violent in the lowercity bars, but combat outside of designated areas of the Institute is strictly prohibited.

It's been a mere two hours at the Noxian lounge; she has drunken more glasses of Noxian Firebile than a human should be able to. If she was a normal human being, she would be dead right now with a blood alcohol level of, I estimate, %.42.

But she is not some 'normal human being'; she is Vi, the woman of so many bloody variables.

She looks shocked when I steal away her cup of the strong, amber liquor. Flushed lips parted as she watches me empty the drink down my throat. She is surprised that I can handle the burn. She swallows as thickly as I do.

I find her baffled face adorable.

She sees me to be fragile, a woman who needs time to plan ahead in order to be effective. Though it is my preferred method, I've had to adapt for time is something I am not always fortunate enough to have.

There is amusement to be found when shattering her preconceptions. I am willing to play her games. I will see how she reacts when I act differently tonight.

It is better for your adversary to underestimate you and for them to be ill prepared.

She makes it painfully obvious that she has feelings for me, how could I not notice how flustered she becomes with a simple graze of my fingertips. I first noticed it at the station when I asked her to hand me a report from her desk.

Our fingers only touched for a moment, but her other hand flew to her hair and a goofy grin masked her blush. She made a joke about it and scurried back to her seat, sticking yet another pen into her mouth.

I wonder if she thinks I don't notice.

_She surely doesn't notice how I find pathetic excuses for contact to happen more often._

The plan tonight is to see how disciplined she is and to see she how she views me as a person. She doesn't much respect me as sheriff, seeing that she blatantly disobeys my orders, but I want to see how she treats me when we are so far away from the laws of Piltover; from the mayor, from the suffocating society.

There are several ways this can play out, but ultimately, it'll be between two possible outcomes:

1) She gives in to her desires (most likely seeing that she is very impulsive when intoxicated)

2) She holds off until we are sober to discuss, or even to never bring it back up.

I don't know about her romantic history, there are no records of her being married or involved with anyone. I can only speculate that she has never had a real relationship due to her difficulty with trusting people and her dangerous lifestyle in general.

But her history of caring for someone as a mentor, as a big sister…it may have an effect on her choices tonight. She may play protector or she may throw caution to the wind. She has had a hard life; there is only so much a human can take before they break.

But Vi is not a simple human being.

I need to understand where her limits lie.

I just need to know.


	10. Log 10

Oh cogs

I may have miscalculated

In my defense, this could not have been foreseen

However

I should've expected it

Pesky, pesky variables

Unexpected drinking contest between us and the Noxian blood brothers. Did not plan to drink this much, but… her smile, her touch, her…_her_

_Fucking variables_

It should be hitting me now. Three drinks over my plan, difficult to think. It will be hard to remember this in the morning, but the black box will help me. Everything I want to remember, I will remember thanks to it. Even things I don't tell it to remember, courtesy of "Professor Fuzzball", as she calls him.

It's rather amusing

Stats; Vi has drunken more liquor than I have ever seen, save for a certain few champion. It is far than twice what I have drunken. She is extremely touchy when intoxicated, but she doesn't get embarrassed by it, even going as far as smirking when I catch her hand resting on my hip. May be due to the change in scenery or the simple concept that she's too intoxicated to care.

For me, I find it pleasant, at the very least

_Focus_

Our lips touched briefly in the washroom, I wanted to lean in for another. Her eyes were closed; I don't think she even realized we kissed.

_Caitlyn_

She acts as if we are already a couple, some kind of fantasy; her arm remains wrapped around my waist for the rest of the night. Five times I've felt her palm pressed against my rear. I can't say I tried to stop her.

It's been so long, the touch is gentle yet possessive

But I have to know what her limits are.

_The plan, Caitlyn_

This is what the original plan was. Learn her, know her, try to understand. Liquor is liquid trust and I thirst for information.

_So cliché_

Hook, line, sinker

It's just so hard

Her eyes are so comforting

Her hand is so strong.

I do my best to observe her; she leans in close to me I feel her toned body press against mine. Her hand guides my own to unlock the runic knob. She bids me good night, and here is my chance. She expects me to allow her to walk away, though she enjoyed this evening. She is dejected, eyes downcast, voice somber. She does her best to hide it. Undertone, she wants more.

_I want more_

_Test her, Caitlyn, it's your game_

Usual response, she shudders when I let my breath breeze over her neck. I can feel the heat radiating from her; she tries to pry my arms off of her. The attempt is halfhearted; she could easily pull me off if she wanted to.

Of course she wouldn't want to.

"Let's get you to bed then." She sounds amused; I try my best not to rest my entire weight on her as she pulls me through my flat.

She pauses in the middle of my living room. Why? Has she forgotten something at the lounge? Perhaps she's second guessing herself. No, not that, she's buzzed, she has all the confidence in the world as noted by she handled herself throughout the night. Though I cannot open my heavy eyes, I feel her head shifting back and forth, is she inspecting my apartment?

I suspect her flat is a mess then.

An amusing sound escapes her lips when I let my breath glide over her neck again; it makes me want to do it more. But I must pace myself, not too strong of a front; humans enjoy being led gently into things.

I can hear her heart beat beneath my ear, it thumps hard. I find myself nearly falling asleep from the rhythm.

My parents, though caring, were never ones to read me a story to sleep or allow me to sleep in their bed when there was a thunderstorm. I never realized how comforting the simple sound of a heartbeat could be.

I feel gravity pulling us downwards, my eyes finally tear open. She tripped, I expect her to be a tad bit more dexterous. Perhaps my teasing along with the alcohol proved to be too distracting. Nonetheless, I manage to twist our bodies so that we stumble a few more steps before collapsing onto my bed in a heap.

Normally, I would cringe at the fact that neither of us has shower. I would force Vi to remove her shoes before stepping foot on my carpet. I would put in a request for a few extra hours in the morning free from matches.

But this is not normal circumstances.

I don't want to leave her arms

And her body is so warm

Her embrace feels so right

I want to lose myself

_Focus_

"Cupcake, please don't do this to me." I find my face nuzzled deep into the crook of her neck, she smells of sunflowers.

I give in, telling her to stay with me for tonight.

Doubtful she suspects of the plan I had for the evening, it's a surprise she hasn't confronted me about her feelings for the years we've known each other. For a woman of direct nature, she is very indirect with her emotions.

Understandable

It is when I hear her breath catch beneath my ear that I realize where my fingers are and the patterns they are tracing. I recognize it as the arrangement of the inner gears of her left gauntlet. Though not an engineer, I couldn't help but study them when she fell asleep beside my desk on a particularly long night at the station.

She has trust issues, so why am I doing this experiment. She'll be hurt if she ever finds out. I am betting all the trust I have earned on this. I want to do as the summoners do and call out worth.

I can only feel myself slide my lips across her skin, the command to do so never registering in my mind.

This is no longer about research.

"Caitlyn, you're drunk."

I enjoy being alone

She pushes my away; she doesn't want it, not now at least. Her eyes are so sad; she wants to do this right.

But I don't want to wait

I want to feel loved

She crosses my mind

I feel just a little less lonely

Cogs, Vi, take a fucking hint

"Fucking tease"

I let it slip; mother would give me an earful if she heard me. However, she would no doubt be more concerned about the fact that I am me sharing a bed with another woman. Close minded Mother; wants to keep her daughter perfect for some rich inventor to swoop me into his arms.

The Piltover Dream

Soft lips press against my forehead

Not as I planned, but I now know that she is willing to take the high road and wait until we are sober. She has morals.

How charming

_I'll be revisiting this memory one day. Note; treat Vi well, no more of these kinds of games. She deserves better, Caitlyn. _


	11. Log 11 (lemon)

_6:42 am_ _Initiating Automated Black Box recording. Criteria(s) met: symptoms associated with 'love'_

I allow my eyes to open, rousing myself from the replay of last night's events. It's oddly satisfying to know that we won the drinking contest against Darius and Draven.

Vi shifted slightly during her sleep, my face no longer tucked into the crook of her neck. Expected her to toss and turn; she probably slept soundly on the account of the alcohol. She is still unaware that I have awoken; her peaceful can be seen in the soft glow of the early sun.

_Registering abnormality in the heart beat_

Her arms are wrapped around me; her left hand is slightly entangled in my hair. My hands rest at her hips, I believe my usual gloves are tossed on my dresser. There is a thin sliver of exposed skin that I allow myself to stroke. Fingers brush over ridges of scar tissue.

What the stories are behind all of them; Burns of both the physical and the chemical kind, cuts, stitches, thick square patches of pure scar tissue. They tell the story of her past that I wish to learn. It will be painful her for to recount them. She begins to stir when I accidently press too hard on one of the creases.

_Registering signs of panic_

Still the body, close the eyes, and even out the breathing. Her body stiffens suddenly; she doesn't quite remember what she did last night. Is she ashamed of the situation? Ashamed that she is sharing a bed with me, or ashamed that she didn't go beyond simply sharing a bed…

She sighs, it sounds like a sigh of relief.

Pride swells in my chest, the reason for it I don't quite know. She is the better of what I predicted her to be.

She has morals that she will stand by, perhaps these morals apply to everyone or maybe only to me.

I understand just a little bit more, it is enough for now.

_Registering signs of content_

I have fallen for her. As cliché as it may sound as if it were straight out of a sappy romance novel, I have fallen of a woman who has treated me far better than any man has. She doesn't even know what makes her so much better than most of the people in the uppercity.

For her, I am not a rung in a ladder to the top; I am not a mere stepping stone; a name to drop when the time is right. I am a person. A human being just like she is.

It is no doubt hard for her for she is doing the best that she can even though no one ever taught her right from wrong. On pure instincts. Perhaps a flaw.

Something unfit for a Zaunite super solider

"Cait, wake up." Hands shake me gently. Almost instinctively, I pull myself closer to her body.

A few more moments.

A soft heartbeat.

There is a flutter to each thump; recall, a scar under her left collar bone.

The ethereal scent of sunflowers

"Please"

She sounds breathless, it's about time we come to an understanding. My head lifts and meets her gaze; she looks oh so confused, so lost. Confliction storms in her eyes, she questions me about my smile.

I am smiling?

"What? Why are you looking at me like I just won the Heim-Tech Prize?"

There is the slightest of blushes that dusts over her cheeks. Is she embarrassed or simply aroused?

_Cogs I hope that it's the latter_

Morning mints, individually wrapped underneath the pillow. Specially placed.

My hands take a detour on their way up to the pillow. Her skin is deceivingly soft, a stark contrast to the roughness of her hands. Heat radiates between the two of us, she wants this as much I as do.

"Woah, let's talk about this first." Her attempt is full force, she succeeds in stopping my advancements.

I want her touch, her warmth. I want her happiness, her love, her trust. I want everything she has to offer and to give her all that I am.

Two small spheres of confection roll around my tongue, the chill cascading down my throat. Her lips are just as they were at the lounge; slightly chapped, not very well-kept, distinctly Vi's. Her head shudders in my hand; a groan is released from her throat.

She is doing her best to restrain herself even at this point.

Her hands fumble with my hair, as if she is unsure of what do with something that's not machinery. They pull roughly, unearthing electricity that races down my back.

Nails scrap against scalps, we both moan into the kiss.

She has passed the test, such a feeble attempt to hide my intentions from the start. Her mind is processing the information given to her; it is still struggling to catch up from last night. Scar in her scalp, medical precision. Her mental process has been altered. She relies more on instinct.

Explains her violent and brash nature.

I feed her morsels of details.

Scenarios; she will either reject me once she works out my plan or she will accept it for who I am. She recognizes the type of person I am, what I need to be comfortable. It is a crucial part of who I am. But that may not be enough to overcome the betrayal she will no doubt feel. She will run with the first conclusion she pulls together.

I don't usually feel fear.

_Registering signs of anxiety_

"Oh you fucking, fucking tease." She growls, more playful than aggressive. It is the sound of amusement.

Relief, I can see a flicker hurt in her eyes, her brows furrow ever so slightly. Underlying agitation. Her lips of ever so hesitant the second time around, she needs a moment to come to terms with the realization.

"You're not a light weight."

Before I can stop myself, I spin a white lie. It's so hard; I'm so accustomed to covering my tracks. Curse my parents; what they don't know won't hurt them.

But this is different.

_She deserves the truth_

I need to stop myself, she is not my parents; I need to come clean about my intentions last night. In fact, I should tell her about all the subtle things I am sure she hasn't even taken notice in the past weeks. Shifting of patrol schedules, decrease in domestic cases that are assigned to her; small things to make her life a bit easier.

Slower in the mind, in tune with the heart.

She still deserves to know. I will stop her and tell her, before this goes any farther, then she can truly decide whether-

Dull nails drag down the back of my neck, a gasp rushes out of my mouth. Lips, _Vi's lips_, wonderful, talented lips trail down my throat. They are teasing, they don't press hard enough to show lust, but they are not hesitant.

Control is what she is displaying

_Impressive_

"So what did you expect from me, last night?"

Not control.

She gently sucks at my neck, her nose pressing into the soft skin. She is smirking, playful as always. Her tone of voice. I understand a bit more.

Teasing

"That I take you, in my drunken stupor, on the bed, sheets tangled at our feet."

A game

A sharp pain lances up to my mind. I bury my hands into her hair and shirt, gripping on as her continues to explore.

"Or not even that. Perhaps against the wall of your flat, your back pressed against the cool surface, my fingers tracing up your legs."

I didn't even notice her hands leaving my neck. I feel the nails rasping up the inside of my thighs. I can only imagine what it would feel like to have them inside of me. My heart longs for her. It's a strange sensation.

I've never truly loved someone.

"Or even in the bar. When you stole my Noxian Firebile; bent over the counter, with everyone watching."

Or even felt love

It feels warm.

"What if that's what you wanted the whole night, you naughty girl. You brain alight with alcohol, the music in the lounge pounding in your chest."

Her voice sounds forced, strained by the situation? I haven't taken note of what exactly she's saying. Her voice is enough. Her touch, her maddening touch. There is hot breath against my ear. My back arches.

_Focus_

Perhaps she is nervous on taking it this far with me.

Perhaps she is having second thoughts.

_Caitlyn_

What are the words she's saying?

_Initiating memory playback_

"All those people watching as I fuck you senseless."

_Curious_

Her fingers are slow, caring. She is careful to allow me chances to stop her. Her body against mine; so warm even through the thin fabric of her skin. I want more, I need more. Tearing of fabric. _Warmth_

She seems to think I am into power play. It is not the first time someone has attempted this with me. I despise it, the misconception that a woman in power has such predictable sexual fetish. Logical, but demeaning to me. I am not predictable.

But she predictable

She probably finds victory in her seemingly lucky gamble.

Her movements are more aggressive, assertive. There is sweet pain entwined with raw passion. Teeth, nails, lips. With my eyes closed, the only question I can focus on is where they are going to be next.

!

White heat

"You like it rough, don't you sheriff,"

There will be a mark on my neck.

"So pristine, so perfect. To be reduced to muttering putty under my touch."

Strange how easily the human mind can be derailed. Though it is understandable from an evolutionary stand point; reproduction must be encouraged somehow. The longing I feel for this woman, as if she was an original piece of me and I have had to make do without her all this time.

It doesn't make sense

Complete

It builds so fast. I've wanted this for so long, to feel this way. Just her touch, the simple hot gush of her breath, sound of her voice. All maddening. Merciless pleasure

_Pure Bliss_

All crashing down

"Vi, fuck…Vi!"

The crying of the mate's name during climax. Most likely social evolution. It brings a sense of tethering between the two minds, an appreciation. Lust. Want. All to fulfill the human need of acceptance and approvement.

Trust

Stillness settles back on the room, silence, there isn't even movement from the courtyard. I felt complete. For a brief moment, it was as if I had lived life to the fullest, that there was nothing left to pursue. It lingers, a pleasant haze.

Her lips are warmer than before.

She is reading me, her eyes so clear, so carefree, so young yet sharp with jagged edges of somber wisdom. She is reading me in the language she is familiar with; she will never truly understand how my mind ticks.

And nor will I of hers.

Never do two minds speak in the same language.

I will come to terms with that one day.

I will realize that she is an incredible person, perfect at being Vi.

I don't have much time until the usually time of free matches begin. Perhaps I'll-

_Chiming_

_"Caitlyn, you are being summoned for a match, please report to the summoning platform in 10 minutes."_

"Oh the joys of free week."

Disappointing. She deserves more.

More…

Cogs

I never told her

Dread

My throat tightens

_What she doesn't know won't hurt her_

But she is different

_Amusing that I was so worried about it at one point_

A mask, as always. Ease into it, no use dropping it on her now. Uncouth, there is not enough time anyhow.

I am distracted

I miss her lips

My chest aches

_I should've told her_

I promise I'll make it up to her.

Some how

_7:30 am Ending __Automated Black Box recording. Criteria(s) met: returning to routine of League Matches. _


	12. Log 12

Breathe in

Hold

Breathe out

Scent of lavenders. Burning. Invigorating

Clear thoughts

_Initiating memory recall of logs concerning "Harold Winch"_

_Linked to gang activity and illegal drug marketing. Suspected to have played a key role in 72 accounts of murder, 41 missing persons, and 352 counts of assault. Confirmed to be in a leadership position of the Iron Wrench gang._

**Pull up last known case**

_Processing_

_December 2__nd __, Iron District, Lowercity, direct contact with undercover officers in a brilliance deal. He discovered the ploy, gave the order to leave no survivors. _

_5 officer deaths, 1 critically wounded, passed away later at the hospital_

_3 Iron Wrench member deaths, 2 apprehended; both later committed suicide_

_Harold fled the scene_

The case file crossed my desk a week ago, I only had enough time to briefly scan it and let the black box process the information. The Uppercity mayor insists that I spend as little time as possible on Lowercity cases; that I should focus on protecting those who matter.

"Let them fester. If they want a proper life, they should get off their lazy asses, get a job and move to the Uppercity."

He has never set foot in the Lowercity.

**Pull up possible contacts with relations to Harold Winch**

_Processing_

_Top three related profiles_

_Michael Folly; mechanic at the Rusty Cog Automation Shop, relation; Friend of Nick, one of the gang members killed in the December 2__nd__ brilliance deal altercation. _

_Rachael Dumask; Bartender at White Cross Lounge, relation; past romantic interest of Harold Winch_

_Vi; Enforcer of the Piltover Police Force, relation; former prominent member of rival gang; Blood Gear_

Interesting

**Research brilliance**

_Processing_

_Brilliance: first documented account 32 years ago in the current Copper District, Lowercity. Hallucinogenic drug that only comes in liquid form administered via eyedropper onto the dilated pupil. _

_Method of creation; __intraocular fluid drained from human eyeballs and distilled with Hexcane Electroid fluid; most commonly harvested from Lowercity power tunnel workers who have 'cleaner eyes' due to long work hours in poorly lit tunnels. _

_Users are known to take the drug in a dark room to expedite absorption into the eye before stepping out where the effects are enhanced by light. Common effects consist of bright, dazzling lights, jolting pleasure from physical contact, and rapid thought succession. _

_Users are called "blind" for their blank staring nature_

_Signs of brilliance usage; swaying movement, fast yet choppy speech, unfocused stare, almost glowing eyes, short term memory loss, sensitive to outside stimulus. _

_Signs of long term brilliance usage; lingering scent comparative to sunflowers, clouding of the pupil, loss of sight, decaying of the eyes, and death when the brilliance can no longer be absorbed into the eye and proceeds to erode away the optic nerve; eventually entering the skull and absorbing directly into the brain. Overloads nervous tissue, leading to brain death. _

I once asked father what brilliance was when I overheard the name at the academy,

"Vile sludge. Never go near that poison, it'll kill you, rot your brains out. It's only fit for the rats of the Lowercity who can't afford catalyst."

Catalyst; almost as common as tobacco in the Uppercity. Claims to promote clear and vivid imagination with minimal side effects; a staple for scientists and inventors. It costs 12 times as much as brilliance.

Pause

The ethereal scent of sunflowers

_Vi_

A loud thud shakes the desk beneath my hands.

_Registering sudden spike in stress, increase in heart rate. Warning_

Eyes snap open, Vi saunters through the door she just slammed open. There is a thick folder in her hand.

_Danger?_

Cocky smile, amused gaze, relaxed shoulders.

_Successful crack down?_

Clean uniform, lack of injuries

_Folder, red tab; homicide case. Assigned to her this morning_

It's thicker; papers are relatively neat, signed label of completion in the lower left corner.

_Conclusion; completed given task, excited to prove me wrong, had a good day. Smear of chocolate on lip, sugar involved as always._

_One and a half minutes_

"Hey Cupcake, guess what?"

File hits my desk. Her nails are messily painted with a multitude of colors. Childish smiley faces. She visited the orphanage during lunch.

Smile warmly, tell her she has done well, and skim through the file. Marcus Munitions, acquitted from manslaughter charges. Crude handwriting but legible.

"I told you I'd get it done."

I gesture her to come over to which she continues to smile broadly, chest puffed out. I kiss away the smear of chocolate.

Pride

_30 seconds_

Pressure builds behind my nose. I have to get her out of here fast. It's a slow day; the station can survive without me. Her smile shifts into a playful one, kissing me again before heading off for my flat. The door rattles.

_Tissues, pinch and hold for 3 minutes_

They come away speckled with blood

A side effect from improper use of catalyst

One must keep a steady heart rate while using it.

She uses brilliance. I use catalyst.

_We are all addicted to whatever makes the pain go away. _

I understand that much

_I still need to tell her. _

I will tell her one day.

When I learn to trust


	13. Log 13

_That blasted woman!_

_Susan Cowl; freelance thief with connections with the minor gang Whetstone_

South on Caner Street, Vi is only few feet behind her. If I don't move now, I'll lose sight of both of them.

_Approximately 34 seconds_

_Think_

Carner opens to West Morris and Kettle Square. She may head down the alleys of Morris or lose us in the afternoon crowd of the square. There's always the possibility of her having backup

A trap?

Most likely, we've never caught her in the act. She did not look surprised when Vi confronted her.

_30 seconds_

I scream over the radio for her to distance herself; to let backup to box her in. She won't like the idea; she wants to do this her way. She's going to laugh at my orders.

This is how she is.

"Ha! And let them have all the fun? Not a chance."

_As expected_

Winds are about 9 km/hr on the rooftop but there'll be little wind between the buildings. Summer day, currents of warm air will create wind on West Morrison but not on Carner Street. Adjust appropriately.

_Focus Caitlyn_

_21 seconds_

The thief is fast, she's the one who raided Professor Azuri's workshop. Prototype #35cb; boots designed to assist with every step, propelling the wearer farther. Formally drafted to aid the feeble and soldiers. At this rate, Vi may tire out before the thief even drains half the power supply of the shoes.

_I still don't know the full extent what Zaun did to her._

_15 seconds_

Her steps are getting more assured, she's slower down. Has she become winded? No, something else, she keeps looking behind at Vi. Taunting. Baiting.

_She has back up_

She doesn't know that I'm on this case with me; she only expects it to be Vi chasing her. It's a low profile case, heist of a subpar mansion, not something that would typically call for the sheriff to become personally involved with.

_7 seconds_

Right turn onto West Morrison, the buildings are taller, winds blowing east. What does she have planned?

_Pitfall, trip line, open sewer…Sniper?_

Logical, Streets are narrow, forcing Vi into a pattern of predictable movement. Winds are blowing towards her; disruption in bullet flight will be minimal. Watch her eyes; she will glance to the sniper.

Brown eyes, scar to the left of her nose, looks like from a blunt force. Estimated age of wound; 5-8 years. Her eyes are focused forward, not just yet.

_2 seconds_

Any farther and the building below me with block my sight of them, it needs to happen soon. Vi's going to get herself hurt. Tunnel vision. I can't let that happen.

_1 second_

Come on

_.4 seconds_

Three more steps.

Eyes still fixed forward

_Time's up_

She looks directly into my scope and winks

A mock salute

Teasing

They disappear behind a building

_Fucking cogs_

She knew I was watching. She fucking knew.

Variables

How does she know?

_Incorrect question. Unimportant_

_She knows now, I can't change that_

What can I do to counteract this?

_Better_

Options; trust that Vi can handle herself or move positions to get into range. She knew exactly where I would be positioned; she ensured that her backup would not cross my line of sight. She expected Vi to throw caution to the wind and chase her. She planned everything out.

_An ear in the operation_

Clever, clever girl

Can't stick to the plan now, she knows what they are. I have to move positions.

"Sherriff, you better tell me you have that vase back."

Mayor over the radio, the vase belongs to a close friend of his. He wants it back no matter the cost. A favor for a favor.

The vase is replaceable

Vi is not

Call for air support, wait it out for backup to box them in. Safest plan.

No

Can't call over the radio, she would have it tapped. Something she would never expect…

_Blank_

Hard to do something out of habit

_Have I always been this predictable?_

Lower rooftop, 15 meter wide alley way. I am not a strong leaper. Risky move, think of something else.

She wouldn't expect me to do it

It's something Vi would do

_Whatever gets you there_

_"Sometimes, you just gotta think outside the box."_

Running start, two foot high ledge, up and over

Simple enough

Gunshots ring from the West, where Vi and the thief disappeared to. What's over there? A backdoor deliver square. Perfect place for an ambush. Two quick shots and one large crack. A pistol and…a rifle?

She could be dead

_Registering signs of fear_

Hands tight around rifle, seven steps back.

Foot on the ledge, push up and out with the ball of the foot.

Two more pistol shots

Air borne, twist and prepare to roll onto right shoulder down to left hip. Brace for pain, two story difference.

_Please don't be dead_

Impact

Relatively soft roll, shaky coming back up. To be expected for a person who is unaccustomed to leaping from rooftop to rooftop.

Vision of the courtyard is partial. Vi's upper body is the only thing I can see, other than the building behind her.

The beaten stone ground is covered in water. It's the square to a clothing shop with flats above it; there hasn't been rain, why is the ground wet?

No accident reports, too much standing water for a simple leaking pipe.

_Look closer_

Vi's face shouldn't be that green

_Gunshots_

Clothing store, perhaps vats of dye that she hid behind, thief tried to shoot her, shot the vats instead; would explain the splatter of green on her face.

She's talking, not on the radio, to the thief; she doesn't want the thief to know that I am listening in.

"-pistol down and I promise not to beat you up too badly."

_As if_

The thief is armed, close range, standard limit of five shots per clip. Possible that she has an illegal firearm with a modified magazine. But she has a gun; no doubt it's trained on Vi.

Tense shoulders, gauntlets curled into tight fists. She's no looking at the other's face; her eyes are lower, she's staring at the gun. She's not going to surrender, that's no Vi. She'll charge her, wait for a distraction that she'll cause herself or that may happen to come along.

_Focus_

My heart thuds

Pause

_A pistol and…a rifle_

There is a sniper

Crosshairs sweep from window to window, skipping past the ones that I would be able to see from my previous position. The thief is smart; she wouldn't station her backup where I would supposedly be able to see them. She would want to lead Vi so her back is to the sniper; less of a chance for Vi to notice. They've stopped moving, that means the gunner's somewhere.

Pressure builds below my eyes

If I don't find this person soon.

_Link update: Partner's powerpack is altering currents. All power being diverted to frontal blastshields. Adjustments 64% complete _

She's going to charge soon. With her front shields to the max, she'll survive anything short of 2 tons of hexplosives as long as it is in front of her. But her back shields won't be able to stop a rifle shot. I can't warn her, not with them listening in on the radio; I have to find this sniper.

_Please_

All the windows are empty. Nothing. I don't understand

There should be a sniper

_A bluff?_

_Link update: Powershift complete. Frontal blastshields running at 120% capacity. All other processes running at 10%_

She's wielding those massive gauntlets with little help from her powerpack. Impressive.

She moistens her lips, eyes flickering up; expectant, devious eyes. She speaks.

"I could really go for a cupcake right about now."

Humorous

Her little code for "I need backup."

It's better than the first time she screamed over the radio;

_"Cupcake, I'm in deep shit right now, help a girl out!"_

Distraction

Vi doesn't flinch when I shoot out one of the higher windows of the building behind her. She charges, her overcharged blastshield warping the air around her. She'll reach her in at most three seconds. The thief will unload one round; if she's wielding a legal firearm, or more if not. We'll get our criminal, no guarantees the vase will be intact.

Unimportant

1

2

3

She presses on, flinching every time a pistol round stops inches from her before falling to the ground. Her teeth are gritted, brows furrowed. It is the same look she wore during firearm training. She movees out of my line of sight.

_Movement detected_

Seventh floor, 19th window from the left

Sniper

Easy shot, crosshairs line up with her face.

Violet eyes

_"How many people have you killed?" _

Hesitation

_"I can't say that most of them deserved it though."_

They do what they must to survive.

_Take the shot_

Crack of a rifle. She falls, a bullet deep into her right shoulder. She'll live.

_Pathetic_

Vi is safe

15 seconds, she'll call over the radio. Job is done, pack up, refusal to write up the report.

Officers will pick up the wounded sniper.

Father would be disappointed, so would mother.

_"If you start something, you better be ready to see it until the end."_

I should've killed her. She will cause harm to others. I took a vow to uphold the laws of Piltover and protect its citizens. I allowed a threat live when I had the perfect opportunity to eliminate it.

Have I done the right thing?

_"No one should have the power to decide whether you get to live or die."_

Perhaps

"Bagged, tagged, and ready to shag!"

Repulsive. Endearing.

I radio her to meet me back at the station. I am smiling softly. Warmth in my chest, relief that it is over.

I bring my fingers to my face. They pull away coated with blood. Catalyst side effects were never an issue, not until she joined. Missions were once calm, predictable, and meticulous. A game of chess.

Simple

Monotonous

Back to the station, back to control, to comfort.

To her.


	14. Log 14

_10:34 pm_ _Initiating Automated Black Box recording. Criteria(s) met: symptoms associated with 'love'_

Her hair is unruly. Characteristic of Zaunites, a life with chemical laden water and polluted air breaks down protein. Unaltered humans don't live past 40 in the city.

No one in Zaun is unaltered.

Her hair does not fall under the cliché of 'fingers through soft hair', but it is nonetheless pleasant. There are knots, there are kinks, why would there not be? It is her hair; it is a page in her story book just like everything else about her.

A long scar at the part in her hair. It is raised, barely visible, but feels so painful under my fingers. As if prodding at it will help me understand.

_What is the story behind it?_

"I don't remember exactly."

She is learning how to read my thoughts. Though she smiles, her eyes are distant as she looks up at me. Her head rests back onto my stomach, her breath warm on bare skin. A sigh, before she begins.

She knows I am curious and she will tell me no matter how much grief it causes her.

_"What happened to the other two subjects that were reportedly lost in the fire at Zaun." _

_The shift is fast. Her muscles tense, brows furrow, her back stiffens, the paper plate in her hand crinkles under the pressure of her fingers. She doesn't look me in the eyes; she simply stares behind me, narrow, lost in thought. I have brought up a delicate subject. She'll brush me off, more trust must be earned. I'll try again another time._

_As fast as her demeanor darkens, it brightens back up, all evidence masked by a sudden cheeky grin and a flip of her hair. She straightens out and rolls her shoulders._

_"That's a story for another time. I'll catch up with you in a couple days Sheriff." She waves to me and walks away. Her shoulders are raised, back slightly hunched; she is hurting on the inside._

"I don't remember much of my childhood. I remember our cell; two beds and concrete walls."

Our?

"It always smelled like death, on some days, it would smell like burning. The days after those were when we got our vials of brilliance."

_Method of creation; __intraocular fluid drained from human eyeballs and distilled with Hexcane Electroid fluid; most commonly harvested from Lowercity power tunnel workers who have 'cleaner eyes' due to long work hours in poorly lit tunnels._

Not workers, they harvested from terminated subjects at this facility. Dimly lit cells, an excess of dead humans and a multitude of living ones to keep under control. Cruel, twisted, economic, efficient. Understandable, but horrific.

Hands tighten around my waist. Fingers go back to stroking her hair, soothing, reassuring. She is scared.

"There are blank spots. Like….just nothingness in my mind where I try to remember something but nothing comes up. As if I never lived during that time. In first memory I have. I'm a kid, maybe 3-4, not sure but I was pretty fucking small. And I wake up and I'm on this cold table. There are lights everywhere. I can't move and there are hands holding my arms and legs. And I look down…"

A pause, she's reliving it right now. Her face grows warmer. Her voice shakes

"I look down and all I see is this metal thing holding my chest open. I can see my rib cage and tools jutting out between the bones. And and"

Shhhh. A kiss on the forehead. She's shaking, her breath is rapid. I want to stop her; I want to keep her from reliving the pain.

But I am too curious

_Selfish_

She needs this; humans find comfort in talking about their problems.

_She's different_

Treat her like a human

_I am the cause of her pain right now_

I need to understand

"I remember screaming. I remember screaming so loud when I could see my lungs go with every breath. But I didn't scream for my parents, no, no. I screamed a name. Just a name with no face; this person that I screamed for…I don't remember who they are, what they look like, why they were so important to me. Nothing."

They wiped her memory, not entirely, probably rudimentary removal of certain sections of the brain. If she tells me the name, I might be able to research it.

I ask her

"Jessie."

**Research 'Jessie' in connection with Emerald Chasm Orphanage and any relation with the fire**

_Processing_

"It hurts. It hurts so much not knowing why I screamed her name. I kept screaming for Jessie, asking where she was why she wasn't there to help me. I promised her that I would help her. But I don't know. I don't know _why._"

_Possible connections:_

_Jennifer A. Walker__; current status unknown, relation; Valoran Peace keeper that inspected the Emerald Chasm Orphanage five years before the fire_

_Jenny Hight; deceased, relation; former orphan of the Emerald Chasm Orphanage, died at the age of 2 due to a severe allergic reaction to peanuts 10 years before the fire_

_Jerald Zacman; current status unknown, relation; researcher at Emerald Chasm Orphanage at time of the fire. _

"That's what scares me the most."

I don't understand

"Sure they can cut me up; they can stick new arms and legs onto me. But I'll still be Vi. I'll still be me no matter what they do to my body. But what they did to my brain."

This is the first time she's ever told her fears to someone.

"I don't know who I am. The more I try to remember, the more I convince myself that I should just forget it all. I keep thinking to myself; they took my memories away, what's stopping them from putting new ones in?"

Ah

"What if I was a kid with a family and they just happened to get a hold of me. What if they stuck someone else's memories into my brain; that I grew up with a mother and a father instead of a cold dark cell. What if they put scars on me to make me believe these fake memories. Was that their experiment? That they could "create" a person by sticking whatever memories they could get a hold of into a body?"

Do memories make up the soul? What makes a person; their body or their mind? She is capable of philosophy at the very least.

"I could be fucking strapped to a table right now with needles stuck in my brain pumping in these thoughts. They could be teasing me, giving me false hopes. You could be fake, just my imagination to help me cope. And I just. Don't. Know."

There are tears on my skin, she's holding so tight now, like a child. It is true fear, not fight or flight, not a physical fear. But a constant one, gnawing away, making her doubt herself. She has had to live with this thought for her entire life.

_She doesn't trust her memories_

Trust

I lift her chin, catch her gaze. Her eyes are red, tears streak down her face. She's scared; both of her past and her future; nowhere to go.

_Help her_

"Vi. You are real. You are very very real."

Ground her, give her an anchor.

"It is 10:59 pm on August 20 and you are at my flat at 826 Sugar Bow Square. You are Vi, enforcer of the Piltover Police Force. You are 5' 10", 156 pounds, 25 years and 6 months old, with light brown hair that you dye pink every six months. Your favorite ice cream is mint rocky road and you can't decide what you favorite dink is, so you have two; Noxian Firewater and Conqueror on the Rocks. Your greatest fear is that you don't know who you are."

She keeps crying but she hangs onto every word I say.

_I am here for you_.

An exchange of information and trust

"I am Caitlyn, sheriff of the Piltover Police Force. I am 5' 7", 137 pounds, 32 and 3 months old, with naturally brown hair that the league changes to black whenever I am on the rift in my classic skin. My favorite ice cream is orange sherbet and my favorite drink is a Winged Martini. My greatest fear..."

Pause

_Don't think_

Trust her

"I am afraid of forgetting. I am afraid of getting lost in the chaos of the world; of finding myself alone."

Pause

Breath

_Focus Caitlyn_

Chest tightens

"I am afraid of not being prepared, of not knowing what's to come. I need control; I need plans, an idea of what's coming. I am scared that I will be powerless like the day my father was mugged."

I don't remember all the details, I wish I could, I would've been able to catch him sooner. I would've been able to recall every word my father blubbered out before he became addicted to catalyst. I would've caught the mugger days in advance, before he could murder that boy.

My lips press together.

"I don't want to lose you like I lost my father. I want you here with me, no matter whom you think you are. You may wake up one day and not remember who you are or how you got to there, but please, remember that you are Vi; you will always be Vi. And I will love you no matter what."

Confessions

It is true. She may be simple minded, brash, crude, unmannered, but she is real, she is human in every sense of the word; free to be who she is because that is she has.

She has no mask

Naked

Lips. All the passion, all the worry and doubt is poured into the kiss. She trusts me with her life; I am her proof that she is real. When she cannot remember anything else, she'll do her best to remember me telling her that she is real.

But I can remember every detail.

The way that she resettles onto my shoulder, her lips quirked upwards ever so slightly. Her left hand is intertwined with mine. Her eyes glow ever so slightly with the light smell of sunflowers.

That there is a scar on her scalp that has taken away her memories

An A.I. in my hat that record all of mine

_I will remember everything that she is afraid to forget._

_"The human soul is made up of nothing but memories. Once we lose those, then what do we become?"_

"My mother once told me; cherish the past, live in the present, hope for the future."

She smiles, her breath steadies.

_11:16 pm Ending __Automated Black Box recording. Criteria(s) met: Brain functions shifting to sleep_


	15. Log 15

_3:32 pm_ _Initiating Automated Black Box recording. Criteria(s) met: abnormally high levels of stress. abnormally high levels of anger. abnormally high levels of killing intent_

"All I am saying is that you have a very important image to uphold, sheriff."

He turns his back. Side arm strapped beneath coat;

_ .2 seconds to draw_

Silencer in top drawer of the desk;

_1.5 seconds to attach_

Shot to the back of the neck, assured kill, minimal blood splatter, dispose of the body-

_Focus Caitlyn_

Fingers twitch

He is the mayor of the uppercity; Albert H. Thompson. He is just as stiff and close minded as the rest of the uppercity; only concerned with his own being.

Disgusting

_Survival of the fittest_

"I do hope that you see the wisdom in my words."

He pauses, speaking still with his face to the door. He straightens his tailored coat; right hand adorned with 3 rings presses down on the knob. I am a dog to him, well groomed and well trained. He is no doubt a dog to someone else and so forth. They did the same to him as he did to me; how the world goes.

_We are all masters at hiding it_

"I look forward to seeing to the award ceremony with a proper suitor."

He turns, faces me, quirk of the lips under his mustache, relaxed brow, narrow eyes. Smug.

"Perhaps Jayce."

Not a suggestion, a command.

_Woof_

An expectation

Nails dig into my palms. Muscles tense

_Side arm strapped beneath coat;_

_ .2 seconds to draw_

_Silencer in top drawer of the desk;_

_1.5 seconds to attach_

_Shot to the back of the neck, assured kill, minimal blood splatter, dispose of the body-_

"Good day to you sheriff."

Behave.

I bid him farewell

Voice even, do not show it. Pride, calm, collected.

A game

Mechanical. Soulless

_"__Like a true uppercity pig"_

I can't believe the nerve of him. He assumes; perhaps even knows of my relations with Vi. He does not care, of course he does not, not of our happiness, not that crime in the lowercity has plummeted, not how more brilliant students are joining the ranks of the elite in the academies. He does not want to disappoint the "great citizens of Piltover" by letting out that their beloved sheriff is queer.

No, no, it is for his image, not mine, of course not; he does not wish to take fault for allowing me recruit Vi. They will label her as the cause of my sexuality.

What am I to do?

_Do what I must every year. Swallow my pride, bow to society. _

I could go against him

_I would lose my job, my reputation, everything I have worked for. Not even my family name would be able to save me. Like Maya Kernich, Oscar Lemming, Thomas Ion; all those before me, now forgotten by society._

Harsh

Strict

City of Progress; a joke

I can be the change

_ "__Do not let them strip away your voice. Do not let like extinguish your soul. Be who you wish to be. Be true to yourself; that is all that should be asked of you." - Speech of the CEO Maya Kernich the day before the YellowSap Company crumbled_

_"__We should be teaching our youth to accept one another, no matter who they are. Ingenuity does not prefer one face over the other; we all have something wondrous to contribute to the world. This is progress; we cannot claim to be the leader of Valoran if we are destroying so many bright minds in the walls of our own city." – Speech of Oscar Lemming before being released from his position of head professor at Martin Bow Academy_

_"__We will not stop until equality is reached. We will be tireless, no matter how much spit, insults, and threats are thrown at us. We will no longer stand with being shunned, our names torn from the history books, the credit of our works awarded to someone else; someone who meets their standards. We are the clock upon the walls; we will not stop marching forward and each time we chime, we shall call out more and more until we are heard!" – Rally cry of Thomas Ion, former Colonel of the Piltover Air Force the day he led a protest from the lowercity to the council chambers._

He was a good man. It is a shame that I was called that day. March 10; 216 unarmed civilians marching towards the council chambers, nonviolent, peaceful. A sabotage, a set-up, 62 casualties, 83 injured.

_"__How many people have you killed?"_

_"142, over the span of 17 years" I remember each one of them and their story._

A disciplined man at the age of 53, served in the Air Force since he was 18. He was there at the battle of Urnof Gulf, he flew out refugees from the Noxian invasion of Iona, and he led the supply drops for the rural yordle villages torn apart by wildfires. He personally consoled my family six months after the mugging of father; the first time father almost overdosed on catalyst.

He was there at my promotion to sheriff

He held me when the hexcane plant next to the station overloaded

I held him when he died in the middle of Progress Square

_Thomas marches at the head of the sea of protestors, all of which are donned in various shades of pink. He wears his old beret, still proud to be a Piltovian even through the hell it has thrown him into. Wrinkles adorn his face, far too many for his age; a result of a stressful life in the military and the stress of such a dishonorable discharge. _

_The radio crackles_

_"__Keep an eye on them, no telling what these scums are planning."_

_They focus on only two facts; that the protestors are from the lowercity, and that they support gay rights. To them, both are equally heinous. Ten officers stationed on the edges of each quadrant. We overlook Progress Square where the 216 protestors spill into. _

_We stand motionless._

_Do not shoot, do not draw arms. Unless I give a command you are to stay in position no matter what._

_They are trained to follow orders_

_I do not belong here. I belong down there, with them, fighting for what's right. It is not fair what we do to them, but it is their own damn fault for being discovered. They could have kept it a secret, been more careful, they could have continued being great. _

_They are the ones who ruined themselves_

_I cannot afford to do that_

_Keep a face_

_Thomas raises his hand, steady and strong in the warm breeze. The mass behind him halts. Quiet, everyone is holding their breath. The officers stationed in the Northeast quadrant shift. _

_Odd_

_I should radio a status report_

_"__We will not stop until equality is reached. We will be tireless, no matter how much spit, insults, and threats are thrown at us. We will no longer stand with being shunned, our names stripped from the history books, the credit of our works awarded to someone else; someone who meets their standards. We are the clock upon the walls; we will not stop marching forward and each time we chime, we shall call out more and more until we are heard!" _

_A deafening cry, a roar of support. He turns, back to the cheering crowd. There is fire in his grey eyes. Military. His chest puffs out. He believes in this so much, he believes he can change everything. And he has 215 people believing just as hard. _

_Movement_

_Officers of the Northeast quadrant draw their firearms, in sync, as if commanded. They do not look confused, they do not question. As if they've been awaiting the order. _

_Eager_

_ "__Officer O'Neil, what the bloody hell are your officers doing?!" The radio line is static in my ear. _

_"__Officer O'Neil!"_

_Something is wrong_

_I radio the other quadrant. Same static. Not even the officers beside me respond._

_The mass has already passed the Northeast quadrant, none of them are aware that there are 10 officers training their pistols one their backs. _

_Movement_

_The Northwest quadrant follows in suit, mindlessly drawing their weapons and leveling them with the protestors. Steady. Precise. Can they not tell that I am not giving the order?_

_Someone has hacked the lines; using my voice. The officers are trained to follow orders. Even more so if they agree with the order._

_The radio crackles_

_"__Officers of the Southeast and Southwest quadrants draw your weapons and prepare to fire." _

_No._

_No_

_Impossible_

_That cannot be me, but it sounds just like me. How did someone hack the comm line, how did they make it sound like my voice?_

_Incorrect_

_Irrelevant_

_Better question_

_How can I stop them?_

_I scream, command all officers in earshot to drop their weapons and slide them away from themselves. They hesitate, it takes me commanding them a second time before the finally comply. 15 officers, I could only stop 15 officers._

_"__All officers standby to fire."_

_There is screaming, everyone has drawn their weapons, the safeties flipped off, hammers cocked. Police standard firearms, 15 round clips. I cannot to stop all of them in time._

_Powerless_

_ "__All officers fire at will."_

_Screaming_

_They disperse, throwing each other to the ground, pressing themselves flat against the pavement. Some turn to flee only to fall after a few steps. The people on the edge of the crowd begin to pile and trip. _

_Chaos_

_What can I do?_

_Focus Caitlyn_

_Solution; find a way to get back on the comm system, give the order to ceasefire._

_How?_

_How?_

_Fucking damn it all, how do I fix this?!_

_If I send my officers to tell the others to stop, it will look like we are charging. Panic, counterproductive. The hacker may even use the opportunity to give the order to close in. It may be the only way. No other choice._

_I give the order. They run slower than I would like._

_Step by step, down the stairs of the council chambers, chest tightening as I near the carnage. The smell of blood, cries of the dying. Bodies._

_A woman, auburn hair, hazel eyes, cradled by her lover, tears. Her eyes are still, her mouth agape. They wear matching rings._

_This cannot be happening_

_A family, two elderly men, a child between them. They both have spots of blood on their backs. Tattered shirts. The child in unharmed, she sobs, begging for them to wake up._

_I took a vow to protect_

_A circle of former strangers, only drawn together by their common woes. One trained as a medical responder, he keeps pressure on the abdomen of their friend. Two others are wrapping the leg of another. The sixth lays motionless on the ground. _

_No promises_

_"__All officers hold your fire."_

_One last round of shots._

_All is still_

_I reach the bottom of the stairs. The ground was once a cream color. _

_I had medical units on standby. They should have heard the gunshots. They should be on the scene helping the wounded, saving these people. No one._

_Someone dismissed them_

_"__Caity."_

_Weak voice, dying voice, final words._

_It is Thomas, three holes to the chest. His lungs are filling fast. _

_Chest aches; this should not have happened. Face is warm, wet, tears. I am crying._

_His hand is cold._

_"__Shhh, don't cry, I know it wasn't your fault. I could tell, you looked just as surprised we were."_

_Smart man, observant man_

_Good man_

_I should have been marching with him, it would've been different. _

_I would've been killed_

_Perhaps_

_"__I thought it would feel different. This whole dying thing."_

_Humor, sad smile. He coughs blood. He has 2 minutes at most._

_"__Life's hard, I understand. They're gonna put you down until you can't get back up. But once you let them, that means you've already hit the ground and they never gonna let you back on your feet. You gotta fight back, just like your father always said; __If you start something, you better be ready to see it until the end."_

_Guilt_

_It could have been different. If I had joined them, maybe the march would not have been fired upon; the hacker would not have been able to use my voice to give orders. I could have made a difference._

_They would have used whoever was commanding to give the order._

_I could have kept this from happening_

_I couldn't have, it would have played out the same way no matter what. The only difference is whether or not I would still be alive. _

_"__Caity, I know you don't do promises, but tell me, just to put a dying man's mind at rest. I want to know that one day you are going to stand up to them and make them listen. If you don't; nothing's gonna change, nothing's gonna get better. Progress can't happen if there isn't a push."_

_I can't promise it. _

_I would be lying_

_Lying to a dying man_

_He was like a father_

_"__I..."_

_Pause_

_Heartbreak_

_Sad smile_

_Wrinkles_

_Warm grey eyes_

_Warmth in a cold, fake world_

_He understands_

_Final breath, eyes are fading._

_"__Make me proud, Caity."_

_Limp_

_Soft smile_

_Pale skin_

_Blood stains_

_"__I promise"_

_Silence_

_No response_

_Tears_

_Breathe_

_In_

_Out_

_Calm_

_Collected_

_Control_

_Close his eyes, set him back down gently, help those you can, medical units arriving on scene now. Four minutes late._

_Restore order, find who did this._

_Focus_

_Wipe the tears, things happen, I cannot anticipate everything._

_Roll with the punches _

_Cogs it hurts_

_Try the radio again_

_"__Officers in Charge, do you copy?"_

_"__Loud and clear sheriff, orders?"_

_Fucking pieces of shit_

_They won't trust them with helping. I don't trust them._

_"__All officers report to the debriefing room at the station immediately, leave your firearms on my desk. Anyone not present will be tracked down and dealt with personally. Is that understood?"_

_A pause_

_"__Yes ma'am."_

_They don't sound confused_

_They expected this_

_"__See to it."_

_The radio is silent. _

Desk is cold, head throbbing. When did I sit down?

Memories, too many, get caught up. Sad memories. Chest hurts.

Fight back

_I can't_

I promised

_It's not a perfect world_

Exactly

Call Jayce, he will be expecting it. Explain what must be done. We have to break the news to Vi.

She will be hurt. She will encourage me to fight back. A wall will be punched, threats will be made, she will have less respect for both Jayce and I.

But it must happen.

She will understand. Her mind is logical, hardwired to be practical. She will see why I do what I do. She will accept it.

I hope. Cogs I hope she will.

_Catalyst, bottom draw of the file cabinet. 13 doses left._

No

_It will help to cope_

Fuck you

_Caitlyn_

I will not become like father

**Disable Black Box A.I.**

_Disabling Black Box A.I. will disable automated recordings, vital sign readings, research abilities, and advice cortex. Confirm?_

**Confirmed**

_Disabling Black Box A.I._

_Farewell_

_5:12 pm Ending __Automated Black Box recording. Criteria(s) met: Black Box A.I. disabled_


End file.
